


stop it pull it twist it do it

by whatweowetoeachother



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, ? - Freeform, Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, about tommy and wilbur's last words, and now it gon be techno's :), based on that one tweet, idk if this is crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 08:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30018933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatweowetoeachother/pseuds/whatweowetoeachother
Summary: “Make this hurt, then. Go on,” Techno hissed, and reached for the blade himself, barely seeing. “twist the blade. Twist it.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	stop it pull it twist it do it

**Author's Note:**

> im real sorry i cant find the tweet but basically it was about how wilbur's last words were 'do it' and tommy's were 'stop it' and someone else said that was basically the bop-it game thing and now here we are. if anyone has the tweet lmk and i'll link it here :)

Techno set the sword and whetstone down on the table carefully. Beside him, Dream passed him a polishing cloth.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” He remarked, running his free hand along the wall. Careful observations, acknowledged with casual comments.

Techno kept half his attention on him, making sure he wouldn’t mess up anything. He snorted. “Much better than being homeless.”

Dream gave a noncommittal hum. He’d changed, Techno noted. Ever since the prison. Sharper, more impatient, and yet much calmer about some things, as if they couldn’t bother him anymore. It made him uneasy.

“I’ll get you some supplies,” Techno continued as he shuffled past the numerous chests. “Then my debt will be fulfilled, and you can leave to do—more murder, I suppose. Whatever you green teletubbies like to do.” 

He walked past the box as he searched for more items. And normally he wouldn’t even think about it, but Dream was in his house again, and the voices in his head had suddenly shouted, and when he turned around it was the first thing he saw, the box that Tommy had hid in, when Dream had first came to visit. 

Tommy. He’d be furious if he found out what Techno had done. 

_A debt is a debt,_ he told the image of a furious, betrayed Tommy, superimposed upon an image of him standing before Techno as TNT rained down around them. _And—you betrayed me first._ Techno knew righteous anger, he did it well. Better that than the whispers, the smallest of the voices in his head telling him he’d left his brother behind. 

He shrugged off the weird sensation. It was because Dream was here, that’s all. Dream and his eerie tendency to bring back memories of Pogtopia and L’manberg and everything that was long gone. He grabbed the supplies, and climbed back down. When he got back, however, Dream was staring at his hands, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. And, perplexingly, a small, confused smile on his lips. 

“What’s wrong?”

Dream looked up. “I was just wondering what I should do, now that it’s over.”

“What do you mean, over?”

He squinted at him. “It’s over, isn’t it? What else is there to do? We’ll all be happy again, soon, since Tommy isn’t here to make trouble anymore. What will I do now?”

Techno paused.

“Tommy’s gone?” He asked carefully, his voice almost unrecognisable, even to himself. 

There were voices in his head. This was what they had been trying to tell him, he thought. And there were images, Tommy beaten and bloody on the ground, or a sword through the chest like Wilbur, and half the voices in his head were celebrating and the other half was screaming.

The only reason Tommy would ever stop making trouble, the only reason he would be gone, was if he was dead, and maybe he’d still find a way after that. Techno knew the familiarity of Tommyinnit. Something in him had frozen, like if he didn’t move he wouldn’t have to proceed, to move forward with the motion. “He’s dead?”

Dream let out a small, proud laugh. “I’ve saved you quite a bit of hassle, haven’t I, Techno? Maybe you should owe me another debt, just for that.”

“You killed him.” He said numbly. Dream was waiting for praise, gratitude. “My-” friend? Brother? My Judas? 

“Trapped him in the prison with me and beat him to death with a potato.”

A boast. The silent breath before the balance shifted, pulled down by inevitable gravity, and Techno was falling.

“You killed him.” A sword had materialised in his hand. Dream frowned, confused. 

“I thought you would be more excited. Less…” Dream gestured. “murdery.”

“I- I’m not-” He clenched the sword tightly. Tommy was dead. Tommy had betrayed him, and he’d betrayed Tommy right back, and now he was dead. He’d thought they were even. Now, he’s not so sure. Techno’s not sure there was ever anything to be even about. Games, sure, when they were children, before the wars and the deaths, and before their score-keeping had mattered to anyone but themselves. “You killed him.” 

“With a potato, yes.” Dream eyed his hand, but his tone was no less casual, or proud. 

A potato. His grip tightened on the handle of the sword. The struggle, the warring in his mind was there. And then it was not. He cut through it, and anything left present was a sharp, burning anger.

Dream’s eyes flickered in surprise, before he put the mask back on. A sword was in his hand too. 

Techno swung. Dream parried. 

They were both intimately familiar with the other’s moves. It echoed their friendly rivalries mockingly, a familiar thrust to a familiar counter. It used to carry on forever, Wilbur, Tommy, George, and Sapnap cheering until they both grew tired. They had both held back, then, too afraid of getting the other hurt. Except Techno wasn’t holding back anymore, and Dream still was. Except Techno wasn’t thinking logically anymore, had let himself fall back to blind rage, and Dream was.

The fight was quicker than expected, each struggling to gain the upper hand. A sweeping of feet, a narrow dodge as the blade flew past his ear. 

“Techno, _stop!_ ” Dream yelled, even as he gained a foothold into offensive position.

“You killed him,” he snarled, voice terrible and barely heard over the shattering of wood. " _You killed him._ ”

And Dream was silent, and the fight carried on.

At some point, sometime much further from where they had started, Dream tripped over a broken crate. Techno advanced. 

He scrambled back. 

“You wanted him dead, too, Techno,” Dream panted, the desperate gleam in his eye hidden by the mask. “You wanted him dead more than me, you helped me blow up his home.”

Had he? Had that been what it was? Was that why Tommy was dead, now? For a split-second, Techno faltered.

And the split-second was enough. The blade flew out of his hand, and Dream was standing, victorious, arm pointed towards him—

Techno stifled the gasp before it could escape his lips. He stumbled back, palms touched the wall behind him and it was cold, _cold_ —

Beneath the mask, Dream let out a small huff of laughter. 

"Even now, Techno?" The smiley face stared emotionlessly at him, but he could hear Dream’s smile, his awful delight. His surprise-turned-to-satisfaction. "Even now, you stay oh-so-stoic, the Blood God that _never dies._ "

Techno breathed as shallowly as he could, afraid to shift the blade. "As if you could kill me," he panted, voice as monotone, as derisive as he could. As if nothing Dream did could affect him, even with the burning pain blossoming from his chest. He flattened his palm against the wall, struggling for support. 

Raising an eyebrow, Dream inclined his head to the sword that he held between them. 

The sword between Techno’s ribs.

"Looking pretty dead to me,” he continued. “Looks like I've finally _beat_ you—" 

Techno snarled viciously, pushing away from the wall to lunge at Dream. The blade made a sickening sound as it slid further into his chest. 

He gasped for breath as the thundering in his ears grew louder. The voices had gone silent, he realised distantly. Shocked into stillness. He could imagine their awe, their horror. A front-row seat to the Blood God, finally defeated. 

"You think you could ever beat me?" He cast his mind desperately for a way out. Black spots appeared, and he blinked them away furiously. He had to win. If not, he had to at least regroup. Of all their fights, of all of Mr Beast's challenges, this was the most important. He couldn't lose now, not when he'd finally decided to fight for something, for Tommy-- "With your puny-" he choked. “You think you can even hurt me? Dream, you’ve never come close-”

Further in. His chest almost touching the hilt, and he could feel the blood, and laughter, bubbling out. Dream snarled, frustration and rage battering at Techno to break faster, to shatter. He answered with a snarl of his own. He wouldn’t break. He would win, even if he died. Maybe then Tommy would be proud, maybe then whatever he owed to him would be finished. 

“Make this hurt, then. Go on,” He hissed, and reached for the blade himself, barely seeing. “twist the blade. _Twist it._ ”

He did.

The voices stayed quiet.

The body lay before him. Dream readjusted his mask, staring carefully at it.

He gives it a moment, one of absolute stillness. The manic rage had bubbled down, finally, to something quieter. Something like regret, maybe. Almost. 

He sighed. Put the blade down.

Then he started walking.

He looked back at the frozen tundra after a while, footsteps already covered by new snowfall. A thought had occurred to him. Dream took a small breath.

“Just killed a God,” he murmured. The only funeral speech Techno would get. One that he would have wanted, even if he wouldn’t have wanted it from Dream. “Feeling good.”

**Author's Note:**

> yooooooooooooo i just had the terrible realisation that it probably wasnt normal that i had my first existential crisis at age ten and no one could tell me what the point of anything was and that explains a lot about current me actually. 
> 
> anyways *hands over this pile of flaming garbage* enjoy
> 
> or dont but then id be really sad


End file.
